


Things You Said While We Were Dying

by G_the_G



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, Things will get happier, but it's gonna take a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G_the_G/pseuds/G_the_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a terrible boyfriend. When he and Darcy learn this the hard way and she winds up hurt, they figure out just what it takes to rebuild any sort of respect, let alone a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started from a prompt, so the second and third chapters are from my [Flotsam and Jetsom](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5042737/chapters/11593990) shorts. The rest will be new and an adventure as I try to write realistic angst and adult interactions.

Inside a crowded elevator, Darcy pulled out her phone to keep herself from guessing who her undercover security detail was this time. Last week’s had been so obvious it was insulting, so she was willing to give this one a little extra edge. Just for the sake of mystery.

She also took it as a very bad sign that about ten seconds later, she started feeling very woozy, and it seemed like she wasn’t the only one. The last thing she remembered before passing out onto the pile of already unconscious people on the floor, was the middle-aged accountant type hitting what was obviously a Stark-Industries-issued panic button. And she’d had the hipster in the corner pegged as this week’s stalker. Go accountant guy.

* * *

 

“Is she awake yet?”

“She’s been groaning and twitching, so I figure it’s a matter of time.”

“Good, get her to the ice box. Let’s see who we can catch this time.”

A couple of hands grabbed her under her arms, hauling her up and across the floor. She still wasn’t alert enough to move much, and was left wondering if she could guess distance by how far her feet were drug across what seemed like cement. She was no closer to figuring it out when she was dropped onto a very cold surface and heard a couple footsteps before a large metal clang signaled that she’d probably been locked inside.

Lovely.

After a very few impatient minutes, Darcy was able to roll onto her back with a grunt. Everything hurt, and there was a bag over her head that she really wanted to pull off. Once she was able to, she looked around. It was dark, but she could make out boxes of what was probably frozen food. And wasn't that perfect. Just how she always wanted to go, surrounded by what was probably a ton of fish sticks. 

She wasn’t sure how long it was, but at some point she’d curled herself into a ball on top of a box. It was warmer than the floor, and she needed to keep warm. Then she heard gunshots. Distant gunshots. Or at least they seemed distant, but she couldn’t tell how insulted her fishy prison was.

She had just scrambled to her feet when the door opened and light filtered in behind a large figure.

“Darcy? You in here?”

“Steve?” She tried to hurry forward. “Don’t come in!”

“Are you okay?”

He once again didn’t bother to listen to her, and opened the door further, stepping into the container.

“No!” She lunged forward. “It’s a-”

The heavy metal clanged shut once again.

“Trap.”


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy was going to die. She might suffocate to death. Or she might freeze to death. Her final demise was still up for debate at that moment.

Steve stood at the door of the freezer container, once again unsuccessfully trying to muscle his way out.

If Tony were there, he would calculate all the ratios, measurements, and math. He’d know how they’d die, at least.

From what she’d been able to get out of her would-be savior, she’d been nabbed to lure any and all Avengers out. And of course the comms had gone down once they entered the building. Supposedly Tony had Jarvis working on it, but then Steve had wandered right into the doom freezer and no one else knew. And Darcy was pissed.

Running from a Metal Deathbot was one thing. Running from murderous illegal alien elves was another. Hell, even running from HYDRA was sounding pretty damn good at that moment.

Because all of those had involved running. Doing. Surviving.

But now she sat there, unable to break, think, or talk her way out of this one. And she was going to die. She was going to die with Captain ‘I can’t let others see me facing any chance of my own mortality” America.

And he hadn’t spoken a word to her in the last hour.

She was probably going to freeze to death while being emotionally frozen out by Capsicle himself. How ironic. Or just unfortunate. She really wasn’t up for debating nuances right then.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Her verbal litany, and the fact that her breathing ticked up with every curse finally drew Steve’s attention.

“Darcy, I’m really going to need you to slow your breathing. We have to conserve as much oxygen as possible.”

The only reason she didn’t gesture rudely was because it would have required she remove one of her hands from the safety of her armpits and expose it to another chance of frost bite. That and there was no guarantee he’d spot it, despite the flashlight he’d set up so they could at least see.

“No shit, Sherlock. You think I don’t know that?”

He clenched his hands, no doubt counting in his head to manage the frustration she caused him. A common attitude from him in the last couple months. A reaction that had her torn between feeling proud to elicit a response and angry that he bothered at all.

“Darcy-” his voice had lowered to that authoritative tone, and she was not about to have any of that.

“No. You do not get to give me some sanctimonious, douche-hole lecture right now. I’m dealing with the idea that I might die in the near future with the dick who kind of broke my heart, and if you want me to pipe down and not hyperventilate, you can go ahead and knock me out.”

He hesitated, not taking his own advice as he began to breathe deeply and more quickly.

“Look-”

“No. Because if I’m going to die in this frozen hell pit with you, I might as well go down in a blaze of glory. So, I am going to talk about emotions, feelings, and all the shit that you’ve been avoiding for the last two months.”

His teeth clacked shut, and the muscles of his jaw flexed, contracting forcefully.

“Just remember you’re the one that left.”

She leaped out of the huddled squat she’d sunk into earlier for warmth.

“Oh, I remember. You know what else I remember? I remember how you would never tell me what was bothering you, even if it was me. You’d just go off for some brood fest on that damn motorcycle of yours.”

He didn’t respond, just continued to watch her, teeth clenched.

“I remember how your honor or pride, or whatever stupid bullshit sense of righteous idiocy you want to call it, had you ordering the team not to tell me when you got hurt because you didn’t think it was right for me to worry.”

This time he folded his arms, eyes narrowed.

“I remember how you used to drop everything, and I mean everything, without a moment’s notice or head’s up, disappearing for any length of time you pleased.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but she was on a roll, grateful that she was finally shaking from something other than the cold.

“Oh, I’m not talking about for work. I’m talking about you leaving me behind at any chance for a pissing contest with some government official. I’m talking about you leaving the country for weeks on end without warning because you’d gotten some fifth-hand information that was six months old about Bucky.”

If he’d been participating in this conversation, he would have clammed up at the mention of Bucky, just like he always had. But it didn’t matter. He’d given up trying to argue, and instead just stood there as she finally got to let it all out.

Darcy felt big, fat tears forming at the corners of her eyes, felt the floodgates of her nose struggling, but she couldn’t stop now.

“I remember how I just wanted you to choose me for once. To pick me as the most important thing, even if it was just for a day, an hour, hell, a minute. I was in love with Steve Rogers, but you wore Captain America’s persona as a shield so much that I don’t think you even knew where he ended and you began.”

They stood there, maybe ten feet apart, but a frozen crevasse spreading between them. The tears had begun rolling down her cheeks, her nose began dripping, and she felt her lip quivering. But he still wouldn’t say anything.

“And most of all I remember how I’m still stupidly in love with you but it’s hopeless, and I’m going to die with the one person who I wanted the most, but never saw me as worth it.”

Her voice broke on a sob, and he finally snapped, crossing the distance in three strides and pulling her into him.

They sank to the floor, and he pulled her into his lap, yanking off his coat to cover her with it now that she couldn’t argue. He tucked her face into his chest, wrapping as much of his body around her as he could, still not saying a word.

He stroked her hair, holding her close until her sobs subsided, until her breathing slowed, until she just lay there, emotionally spent.

She didn’t say anything else.

And he hated himself, for knowing she was right. Hated himself for knowing she deserved so much better, but he had not been willing to bend and spread himself in a new direction.

He hated himself for knowing that if the team didn’t find them soon enough, he would still probably survive.

But Darcy wouldn’t.

 

What seemed like hours later, the team finally found them. Darcy had stopped shivering a long time earlier, and Steve was barely conscious. It still took the a few more precious seconds to get him to let go so they could help. The only thing he said was her name. Over and over again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another one that has already been seen elsewhere, but has been tweaked in parts. We'll get to the new stuff next bit, don't worry.

Machines beeped and the scent of antiseptic filled the air. It was a far too familiar place, a far too familiar sense of helplessness.

It was better than the alternative. One he was refusing to think about.

Steve stood outside the hospital room, hands clenched, breathing controlled. Right where he’d been standing for the last hour; ever since medical had cleared him. They hadn’t so much as cleared him as he’d declared ‘I’ll live’ and was up, pulling off monitors and sensors to go looking for where they’d taken her.

He wasn’t sure what he looked like, what expression his face held, but a nurse had taken one look at him when he’d brusquely asked where Darcy was and had given him the information he’d wanted. He had run as fast as his somewhat shaky limbs would take him. Coming to a standstill outside her door.

But he hadn’t been able to walk in.

So he listened to the beeps, tried to keep the fear from mixing with the smells of soap, and breathed.

He could hear the medical staff talking despite their quiet voices. Severe hypothermia. Extended CPR. Broken ribs. Possible frostbite. Extracorporeal rewarming. All the terms floated and mashed together in his head, making him want to run away for the first time in a very long time. To find something to hit or someone to yell at. To go back to being Captain America, the hero that others needed so he didn’t have to focus on what he wanted. That’s what he did best.

But he hadn’t been able to leave.

A nurse who had earlier squeezed around him to get into Darcy’s room came back out. She shut the door quietly, turning to send him a pitying smile that he was still there, and gave his elbow a soft pat as she moved past.

He’d gotten pity before. More times than he could count. Pity that he was sick and frail. Pity that he’d lost his mother. Pity that he’d lost his friend and fellow soldiers. Pity that he’d lost everything he’d known, everything that had ever mattered to him. And as much as he’d hated the pity, this felt worse.

It felt like a verdict.

One he didn’t like.

Time continued to pass. He didn’t know how long. Didn’t know how many breaths he’d taken. How many times he’d gone through all the vague memories of the team finding them: shouts, confusion, panic. How many times he’d wondered if there was any way he could have prevented this. He knew it had been a trap and was angry that it had worked so well. Yet, he recognized that if they hadn’t been in the freezer Darcy probably would have just been shot and killed immediately.

But he still hadn’t been able to keep from wondering.

An announcement came over the speaker, startling him out of his daze, calling some doctor to help someone else. Something he wished he could do.

With a shake of his head, he grunted at himself in disgust. There was something he could do.

After a final pause to listen, he reached out, turning the handle and taking a hesitant step into the room. At first all he could see was Darcy: engulfed, covered, surrounded. Despite the fact no one spoke, it felt like a cacophony of noise from all the sensors and machines that circled her.

When he took step forward, he heard a huff.

Jane Foster sat, hands clasped in the sheets at Darcy’s hip, hair frantic, clothes disheveled, and eyes narrowed at him.

“You have no right to be here.”

Thor stood silently in the corner, neither condemning nor denying as he loomed, standing watch over his beloved and his fallen sister.

Steve opened his mouth slowly, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been able to get any words out.

“No. You do not belong here! Darcy is hurt and only those that care about her should be here.”

“I-“

Jane leaned forward, chin almost connecting with the side of the bed.

“You have _no_ _right_ to be here.”

Steve was silent, unable to make an argument. Because deep down he knew that Jane wasn’t wrong. He’d given up many things, and squandered others. He no longer had a right to worry about Darcy.

But he hadn’t been able to stop.

He looked to Thor as the Asgardian stepped forward. He had sympathy in his eyes, but merely shook his head, moving closer to set a hand on Jane’s shoulder. Neither a judgment nor a condemnation for him, only a solidarity for Darcy that Steve had no part of right then.

With a sigh that shuddered from his chest, Steve dropped his shoulders. He took another look at Darcy, her pale face, thankfully no longer blue. He didn’t dare take a step forward, but he took long enough to look that Jane had started to shift and mutter.

After a quick, tight nod, he turned and left the room.

But he hadn’t been able to go far.

So he sat in the chair outside, tipping his head back until it rested against the wall.

There were mission reports he could file, debriefs he should attend, and shit to handle.

But he wasn’t able to care about that.

So he sat. Waiting.

Hoping it was a start.

Hoping it wasn’t too late.

 

* * *

 

“There wasn’t anything you could do, Tony.”

The billionaire glared at the liquor in his hand, refusing to look at the calm assassin in front of him.

“But someone should have noticed! How could no one have noticed a damn mole?!”

Natasha wanted to agree, but knew it wasn’t that easy, so she folded her arms and explained for both of their benefits.

“Because she didn’t show any of the signs. No criminal history or ties. No money troubles. No work problems. She just became bored and greedy and there was no way anyone could have known it would take that turn.”

He firmly set his glass down on the table in front of him to begin pacing.

“I’ve got to...The poor kid, just...I have to do _something_.”

Natasha knew how he felt. She had been there many times, and was struggling with her own frustration. She wanted to do more. Despite the fact that she’d been able to get CPR started, been able to get the team to focus on what needed to be done, been able to keep herself and those around her from completely falling apart, she wanted to do more. More than avoid checking on Steve because she only wanted to focus on Darcy right then.

“If she makes it out of this, she’s going to have a long road of recovery. Frostbite is serious, so we’ll have to be there for her then. Help her heal.”

He spun towards her, that manic gleam in his eyes as he snapped his fingers.

“That’s it!” he hurried past her, calling out as he went. “Jarvis, what times is it in Korea? Nevermind, I don’t care. I need you to find someone.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get to the all-new stuff!! Posting is going to slow down from here on out. Just a warning.

It turns out that _not_ freezing to death hurts like a bitch.

Muscles sting and burn from being separated to make room for heating tubes, incisions itch, ribs and sternum ache from stitching back together after CPR, and worst of all was the frostbite. Both of Darcy’s feet were searing all day, the skin and tissue deciding if it was going to live or not. Thankfully Tony had some doctor coming in to fix her up in some cradle thingy. She didn’t care what it was called, or how it worked, just as long as it stopped her feet from burning.

The doctors at the hospital had told her she was lucky to have avoided frostbite on her face and hands, but she knew that was only because of Steve acting as her lifesaver/space heater, so she wasn’t so sure how lucky she was feeling, considering the whole heartbreak and then dickishly stoic behavior. She also hadn’t seen or heard anything from him since, and had yet to figure out how she really felt about that either.

Overall, she could only identify that she was just thankful to finally be alone. She’d been released from medical a week earlier, and Jane had only ever left her side when Thor was there, and vice versa. And that wasn't even including when others came to visit. Thankfully, Tony had for once productively ‘improved’ a piece of equipment. This time it was an electric scooter to easily get Darcy around her apartment. A scooter that could also hold her upright without putting weight on her feet. And Dum-E had made a great transporter when she needed to get from her scooter to bed or couch or bathroom, so she’d finally been able to convince Jane to leave her.

She’d also had warned her mad scientist that if she and Thor didn’t find a productive way to work off their tension and stress, she was not responsible for the next person Thor beat up in training or the next piece of equipment Jane melted in her distraction. It was the first laugh Darcy had remembered getting since before the whole freezer fiasco.

Trying to keep her mind off that frozen hell hole, Darcy practiced making her way around the furniture. It was only a matter of time before Bruce showed up to go swimming with her in the pool perfectly matched to her body temperature. Yay for activity and interaction with someone who knew how it felt to be tiptoed around. And yay for improving circulation without making her feet feel like pure fire and brimstone. Well, at least not more so than usual.

“Ms. Lewis.”

“Yeah, Jarvis?”

She continued looping around her kitchen island, only half listening.

“Captain Rogers is asking to see you.”

Her scooter shuttered to a stop, the tires nearly squealing on the floor as she hurriedly looked up.

Her mind went completely blank in a mild panic.

“Ms. Lewis?”

“Yeah?”

“Per Dr. Foster’s guidelines and your own preferences, he requires permission to initiate contact.”

If it wouldn’t have hurt too much, she would have snorted.

“Go Jane,” she murmured instead. “Oh, and go you, Jarvis, for recognizing who is on my shit list.”

“Always. What would like me to inform the Captain?”

Darcy took a breath. And reminded herself of her belief in the band-aid approach. If she was gonna be a big girl, she might as well get this over with. She had said a lot in that freezer, but the fact that she didn’t die and he hadn’t actually given her any answers meant there was a still a lot to deal with. Stuff she would have dealt with if he had been willing to actually have a discussion with her before the whole nearly turning into a fish stick experience. But she had to focus on where she was then. That was what was getting her through her days, so it should apply to Captain Dickface as well.

“He can come. Just be sure Jane doesn’t find out. We need to actually be able to talk and angry McAstro Fury isn’t going to help.”

“As you wish.”

The AI’s traditional parting movie reference helped calm her nerves, and she scooted over to face the door, lifting the chair so she was standing. There was no way in hell she’d be lying, or sitting, down for this.

It wasn’t long before a soft knock came.

“It’s open.”

He walked in, peering around, his eyes visibly widening when he saw her where she was, practically standing, prepared for battle. That bugged her. But when he immediately fluttered around her hemming and hawing about how she should probably not be out of bed, that pissed her off. She waved him off with a frustrated growl, wincing at the effort.

That guilty look crept into his eyes, but she didn’t care. That was a lie. She did care. She was even a bit happy to see it. Let the ass feel guilty, she was tired of doing so. Tired of feeling guilty when she wanted him to stay with her instead of chasing after Bucky. For feeling guilty that she was angry when he missed her birthday to take a stand against Senator Stern. For hating him because he kept fighting for every ‘little guy’ instead of her.

When she realized he hadn’t said anything, she shook herself mentally, focusing back on the task at hand. He'd slipped into parade rest, once again falling back on being a soldier when unsure about how to proceed. Screw that. He deserved to be on unsure ground.

“Why are you here?”

He was slow to answer, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath first.

“I wanted to talk to you.“

“No shit. Did you wait until Jane was gone on purpose?”

His eyes darted around the room as if just noticing she wasn’t there.

“No, I, uh, I have to go.”

He went quiet and still, but she could still sense his extra hesitation. Normally he would say it was a mission or training exercise. So this was something important, something he still thought would upset her. And she suddenly realized the one thing she’d told him had made them drift apart the most. 

“You found him.” It was a statement, not a question.

He nodded once in confirmation, but then his shoulders tightened as he finally got to the real reason he was there.

“I’m not expecting you to forgive me. I haven’t earned it, and I know you better than to think you don’t need enough time to hold a good grudge.”

It was true, which pissed her off just that little bit more.

“I want a chance to try and make things right.” He finally stood straighter, mostly to hold up a hand to try and keep her from interjecting, slipping it back behind his back when he was sure she would let him speak. “Not because I’m scared about things ending on a bad note. You of all people know I don’t mind making enemies. Even if they’re close to home.”

She rolled her eyes, remembering his stupid, vicious battle with the hot dog guy outside the tower.

“But I realized that while I’ve been off fighting so much, you were the one thing helping me stay going.”

He finally paused for breath, so she blurted out the sentiment that had been building during his whole speech, the one thought she needed to express the most.

“Things can’t go back to the way they were, Steve. I refuse to be your crutch and only take what little you weren't too scared to give.”

He tensed at her word choice. He didn’t like being called weak or a coward, but that’s exactly what he had been.

“I’m not asking you to do that. And while I want more than anything to argue about what could have been and should have been, I need a chance to make things right.”

She slowly, deliberately clasped her hands. It was enough movement to pull at her muscles, but she didn’t want her hands to fidget or shake. No way was she going to be the first to break.

“What do you mean make things right? There’s no magical way to just go back and erase it.”

“I want to show you how much I care about you. Even if,” he cut off, trying to remember the words he’d told himself he had to say. The words he hadn’t been able to get out before. “Even if I’ve completely lost you forever, I want you to at least know how much I do care." He paused to swallow. "How much I feel. How much-”

She sucked her breath in on a hiss, effectively cutting him off.

“If you say love, I will give Thor and Hulk and every other damn person in this tower permission to beat your ass to everlasting hell. You do not get to say that to me right now. I do not deserve that much emotional baggage or assholery. Especially not from you.”

“No.” He shook his head, hating both her for pointing it out and himself for wanting to fight it. His arms tightened as he held his muscles tight, forcing himself to breath normally. “You're right.”

Darcy saw that guilt mixed with fire in his eyes, and let out a sigh that had been forming, bubbling up beneath her anger. She was tired of this. So damn tired of fighting for what she actually wanted, needed from him. The harness holding her up was starting to rub at her thighs and middle, and she was spent. Emotions were too much to handle on top of the throbbing and aching still echoing through her body. Lowering the chair back to sitting, she slowly watched his face as she finally let her exhaustion show.

“Then what do you want?”

She saw him twitch, and she wasn't sure exactly what he wanted right then, but he kept himself where he was.

“To see where we can go from here. If we are only friends, I will take that. Anything where I can let you know how much I care when I’ve got my head out of my ass and am really trying.”

Wanting to avoid that touchy subject, she forced a small smile.

“You said a bad word there, Cap.”

He finally dropped his hands to his sides, standing like a normal human for once.

“Not Cap. Not right now. Just Steve.”

There was a pause, and they both jumped, Darcy with a wince, when Jarvis spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but the quinjet is ready for departure.”

He closed his eyes for a second.

“Tell them I’ll be right there.”

He looked back at Darcy, still not saying anything, and she was annoyed at having to fill the silence once more.

“You better go. You gotta go find Bucky.”

He nodded.

“I am. I will. But I gotta know. Will you give me a chance, Darce?”

She closed her eyes, unable to look at his penitent face with her frustration building.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re expecting from me.”

“Permission to try. To actually keep you in the loop. You don’t have to answer or respond or anything, but I just want to know if you’ll let me call, text, anything. Hell, I'd do that Snapchat shit if it will help. This is the first thing I know how to fix.”

Darcy stared at the controls of her scooter, trying to figure out what exactly that would mean for both of them.

“Just that? You’re asking if you can contact me?”

“I can’t tell you how much I want to force my way in, try to make you see how much I recognize and feel now. But that’s not what you want, and not what either of us needs.”

As his tone settled back into some form of resigned frustration that she sadly found familiar, she finally looked at him again, but didn’t say anything.

This time he bridged that gap.

“After all the times I didn’t reach out, you have the right to say no. Hell, you have the right to do a lot more.”

She rolled her eyes. There it was. He was always so dramatic.

“Fine,” she sighed, resigned.

“What?”

“Text me, whatever. We’ll see if I actually appreciate it when it happens. But I fully reserve the right to block your dumb ass if I want.”

His shoulders relaxed and he had a small hopeful tilt to his lips. But an instant later, he seemed to stiffen, as if he suddenly remembered what and who all was waiting for him. She only sat there, silently watching as he appeared torn, glancing between the door and her. His hand reached toward her slightly, but he caught himself, clenched his fist with a small shake of his head, and turned, running towards the door without another word.

Typical.


	5. Chapter 5

Darcy sat on her lab stool, the toe of one foot tucked behind the stool's support bar while her other foot was pulled up so her ankle rested on the other knee. It wasn’t the most comfortable position considering the firmness of said stool, but it was a posture she’d developed in the last couple weeks. One she wasn't always conscious of. However, the uncomfortable furniture that was meant to discourage impromptu desk-napping was proving fairly ineffective at actually encouraging any work. It had been a couple hours since she’d gotten any real tasks done, and a long while she’d done anything but absently stroke the skin under the edge of her sock. She wasn’t going to take off her shoes and socks to examine both feet like she wanted, Jane gave her a weird look and then a smile that was a mix between pity and exasperation the last time she did that.

So she only stroked her fingers as she felt the smooth skin and remembered the red, swollen things her feet had been before Helen was able to treat her. The constant pain. The searing, burning sensations that still came back from time to time, despite the fact that she had been completely healed for a couple weeks now. Well, physically at least. The therapist Tony had found for her had said a lot of fancy things, but summed up that it was psychosomatic and a result of her trauma. Either way. It sucked. Especially when combined with the dreams.

The computer beeped, indicating the program had finished running the numbers from Jane’s last batch of data. But Darcy didn’t heart it.

She wasn't in the lab as she sat there remembering the dream from the night before. Overall it was the same thing as usual, but this time instead of a freezer, it was the New Mexico desert, and instead of being stuck with Steve and all her disappointment, she’d been trapped under debris and left to freeze after Thor and Jane had been sucked back up the rainbow tornado. Wouldn’t her therapist have a field day with that doozy.

“Darcy!” Jane's voice was sharp and she snapped her head up to respond.

“What?”

But her boss didn’t look upset. More worried, standing there with her brows slightly lowered and hands on her hips. Great. How long had she been zoning this time?

“I've been trying to get your attention.” Jane stepped closer, the random boots she’d thrown on that morning softly squeaking on the lab floor. When she caught sight of where her assistant’s hand rested,  she paused. “You doing okay? Any pain?”

Guiltily, Darcy pulled her hand up, setting on the lab desk next to the keyboard.

“No. Not right now. Just...the memory.”

She nodded and came to sit next to her, collapsing as much as possible on the uncomfortable stool with a groan. “You're telling me. I still wake up remembering the aether at least once a week.” She tilted her head with a considering hum. “Although that one time I got lost in the soul forge was kind of cool.”

“Trust you to find a way to nerd out during a nightmare,” Darcy teased with a snort. “Although, if they’re only happening once a week, that's way better than it used to be.

“Absolutely." She nodded and turned, her voice soft at her next question. "You still waking up every night?”

She shrugged, trying to believe it wasn't a big deal.

“Pretty much.”

Jane reached out to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze before gently holding on.

“Don't worry. You'll get there.”

The two sat there comfortably silent as they held hands and let their minds wander to their individual worries.

The phone on the desk buzzed and both women straightened in their seats, letting go of each other as they looked at it. Darcy usually had personalized ringtones for every living being she knew or had any chance of texting or calling, and she took delight in disrupting the day with each individual set of sounds. So a silent buzz indicated it was someone she didn’t know. Someone who was for the first time texting her protected, unlisted number, or someone she’d demoted. And there were only so many options.

“Steve?” Jane asked with a restrained amount of venom. While her reaction was more tempered than when she’d found out he’d come to see Darcy when she was gone, that was the last time they’d broached the topic, so things could take a number of turns.

“Most likely,” she hedged, still not reaching out to check if it actually was him.

The small growl would have been amusing if Darcy hadn’t counted it as another tick in the “must defuse this emotional bomb” category.

“I still don't know why you forgave him.”

So that was this particular rub. That she could deal with. And for once, she was glad she’d been doing all the soul-searching and introspection over the last couple weeks, even though she tended to hate it at the time. Living by the seat of your pants was very easy with the crowd she’d gotten into, and sometimes it was a lot easier. 

“Oh, believe you me. I'm still nowhere near forgiving him. I don't even read his messages seventy-five percent of the time. But if he's trying, I figure I should return the minimum amount of effort.”

Jane folded her arms with a huff. “He never did before.”

“I know. And that's on him.” Darcy finally shifted position, dropping her foot down to rest next to the other as she turned to her friend. “And while I absolutely love you for the solidarity, I'm trying to let it go. Partly just to ease living conditions around here. But mostly because I've been talking with Dr. Quinn about dealing with the emotional fallout from the freezer fiasco. Trying to get over anger at him might help me deal with everything else.”

Always the doubter of the softer sciences, Jane’s eyes narrowed.

“She said that?”

“No, I did and she didn't disagree.” Willing to go with that explanation, Jane sunk back into her slouch, which made Darcy hesitant to bring up the next topic. But band-aid approach and all that. That’s what she was living by now. “Besides… I know I'm going to have a hard time once he actually brings Bucky back, so I'm trying to prepare myself. Take care of the other emotional crap before that shit comes down.”

Her boss paused, obviously not having considered that option at all before.

“You really think he will?”

“Yeah. He needs him.” She finally grabbed her phone, staring at it in her hands without turning it on or trying to read the message that the flashing light kept reminding her about. “Some part of Steve will never be able to move on until he has his friend back.”

“You sound like you're still worried for him”

She shrugged. “I'm not gonna lie. A part of myself still loves him.” At her friend’s noise of surprise, she held up one hand, clenching her phone in the other. “Believe me, I’m angry at that part of me too. But I don't know if he’s one of those ‘the memory of him is always there’ or something that I want to hold onto this because of the man I know he could be.”

Jane reached out again, soft support once again as she rested her hand on Darcy’s wrist.

“You guys were pretty good friends even before you got together. I always knew where I could find you if you weren’t in the lab or at home.”

She found that the memory brought a smile that didn't hurt quite as much this time.

“Yeah, he was a good friend. But a _terrible_ boyfriend. So while I'm figuring that out, I'm working on what I can.” Both women nodded along at her thinking, but she wanted to leave the melancholy behind and sat up with a sense of sass she hadn't felt in a while. “Plus, I mean, the sex was pretty fantastic. I don’t want to to just go writing that off right yet.”

Jane laughed quietly, patting her wrist before pulling her hand back, and Darcy sent her a grateful smile for letting her lighten the mood. But then her boss’s brow creased and she looked at her own, scratched and ink-covered fingers as she slowly stated her conclusion.

“You want to forgive him.”

Darcy took a minute to consider that, but her answer still came out in a jumble.

“No. Yes. I don't know. Like I said, I'm still furious. At both him and myself. But I want to let it go if only because carrying this frustration and disappointment is so damn exhausting.”

After a long sigh, Jane responded in a dejected tone. “Fine. I'll try and be nice. But I worked up a really good mad and it's gonna take some time.”

This time Darcy reached out to pat her on the shoulder.

“Same here, so don't worry.”

With a smile of approval, she sat up, turning to lean one elbow on the desk and face her friend.

“So what other far-too-adultlike and mature things things have you been thinking about?”

Following example, she sat up, purposely setting the phone aside.

“In regards to him? Nothing. I haven’t responded to anything he’s sent. I haven’t been up to it. As cliche as it sounds, I’m going to focus on me for a while.”

“Cliches be damned. I think that sounds much better than angsting over Captain Dickface." Jane had started with a casual wave, but ended with her nose scrunched like when she had conflicting data sets. "You haven’t been you in a while.”

“Yeah. I know.” Darcy suddenly caught a memory of the random lab-wide nerf wars and dance parties she had used to initiate, activities that had fallen to the wayside even before the freezer deal. Shaking off the sense of longing that overcame her, she nodded firmly because she was going to do something about it. “For now, I’m going to go back to school.”

“School?” Jane’s head tilted as she weighed that response, seemingly holding some of her reaction back.

“Yeah. Bruce keeps ‘accidentally’ leaving all these pamphlets lying around that talk about distance learning opportunities at Culver, so I’ll start there. Once I finish up with those classes, I might transfer to a university around here and go from there.”

Darcy’s eyes darted over to Jane when she let out a significant sigh of relief.

“Oh good. He wanted me to slip one under your door hand I was running out of excuses to get out of it.”

She laughed at that. A long, cleansing laugh that helped her feel more steady. She had wonderful friends. Pushy friends, but wonderful.

“It’s a good thing I already had plans to finish my degree, but that man's passive aggressive behavior for good is worrisome. Remind me never to whine at him about my future during swim therapy ever again.”

Jane mimed taking note of it and then simply chuckled with a fond smile.

“Yes, but you can’t fault him for effectiveness. Remember when he got Tony to stop leaving those gross half-finished smoothies of death everywhere by putting all of them on his cars. That took weeks of effort and it was amazing.”

“Don’t remind me,” she said with a cringe. “I swear I still have half of his speech about the smell of vegetable-tainted upholstery memorized. And I still don't think he's discovered the tool collection Bruce started in the grand piano. While I'm grateful to not be twisting my ankles anymore, the next party is going to get pret-ty awkward.”


	6. Chapter 6

The sounds of car engines, tire squeals, and horns filtered through the badly insulated apartment walls. It was late afternoon and the curtains were drawn. But that wasn't unusual; they had been drawn all day. The slanted light that shone through the slight gap of fabric the only signal of time passing. The air was stale and musty, the room was getting dim, but it didn’t matter. He’d been in worse. 

He sat at the kitchen table, notebook open in front of him, pen resting in his motionless hand. He’d spent all afternoon there. He'd spent several days, weeks, months there. He wasn't entire sure at that point. It all blended together. Different apartments, different rooms, different notebooks. But there he sat. Remembering. Writing. Trying to focus. Trying to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. What he knew and what he'd been told. Struggling.

In, out, in, out. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to find a steady base. A foundation to help him sort through it all. 

Things come in hazy clouds or bright flashes, some days there is so much he writes all day, barely getting up, hardly eating. Other days he’s left in a fog, not sure what he’s supposed to do. Not able to move in any direction without someone there to give him clear orders. 

Orders. Those were something he was accustomed to. He didn’t have a name. He had a designation. Asset. He had direct commands. Complete the mission. Over and over. A different handler, a different mission, a different target. A lot of the time that’s what he remembered the best. Targets. Some of them had names. Some of them were only faces and blood.

The rest feels different in his mind. Less defined, harder to grasp, further away, blocked by time and something else. Scraps and fistfights in alleyways and back hallways, trenches and gunfire, labs and pain, firefight after firefight. Different smells and sensations come back to him. Dirt and mud, hot metal, cold, so much cold. 

What taunts him most are the bits and pieces that keep dancing around the edges of his thoughts, wisps that he can’t quite grasp. A soft laugh, the shine of red hair, a brief moment of home.

But everything suddenly comes into startling focus on a sinking airship. He's failed his mission. He's stopped because suddenly he's there, fighting with some idiot whose ass he is somehow sure he’s had to save before and who he has to save again. 

The idiot who’d called him Bucky. 

The museum had talked about him. Steven Grant Rogers. A hero, a national treasure, a stranger. There were pictures and videos, images that seemed familiar but never actually fit with anything he knew. It had talked about the both of them. So many words that only seemed to belong on that wall. They weren't for him. None of them could have been about him. None of that pride, nostalgia, and love could be for him. 

But then he remembered that idiot. 

Steve.

The one who’d called him Bucky.

The one who’d given him a name.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure about how she feels, Darcy decides to see what others think instead.

Six weeks. It had been six weeks and everyone was still avoiding that patriotically stupid elephant in the room. Well, everyone except for Jane and Thor. Although, Thor was usually more sedate than Jane when the topic came up. But everyone else was avoiding it. And Darcy had had enough.

She sat in Tony’s lab, giving him feedback on the improved mobility scooter he’d rigged for her so he could put the designs into production for the public. He was claiming it was gonna make him a chunk of change, but she’d overheard his conversation with Pepper about a new charity for the disabled and mobility options. And knew that he’d probably never see a penny from this.

So, she sat there, bored, repeatedly tossing some  _ thing  _ up in the air to catch it as it fell. It was probably worth thousands of dollars but Tony had declared it useless because it didn’t fit his needs right then. She’d been in there for two hours already, and not once had anything involving freezers, Steve, or her love life crossed his lips. And there was no way that wasn’t intentional. Especially since Tony was so shameless when it came to terrible puns, morbid humor, and suggestions for how to improve said love life.

After another few tosses, she decided to just go for it. Beating around the bush took too long. And subtlety never earned any points with Tony anyway.

“You realize that he’s bringing him back here. We’ll be harboring an internationally wanted assassin. Again.”

It seemed as if he stilled for a moment, breathing slow before fixing his eyes on her face, his brow quirk asking if she really wanted to get into that topic. She gave him all the exasperation she could muster and he shrugged.

“Eh. Stark’s Home of Wayward Assassins can always use one more in the ranks I guess.”

“Seriously? We don't even know what all he did. _Who_ exactly he is now that he’s coming back. What all he’s _going_ to do now that he’s back.”

His voice was muffled from where his head was tucked under his arm, not bothering to stop tinkering with the scooter.

“You worried or something?” 

Admittedly, she mostly just felt like being a bitch about the whole thing. America's hero had blown her off so many times for the guy. Her attempts to move on aside, she didn't feel like she was anywhere near able to look on him kindly. And it never hurt to play devil’s advocate for something as serious as this. She lived with a group of people who had a habit of leaping first and then checking for a landing area after. Darcy was not about to take her self-preservation for granted. But if she was really honest, a small part of her was scared. A whole lot of hurt and pain could come, old and new, and she was not about to admit how worried that made her.

“No. I'm just surprised with how cool you are being about this.”

Tony finally straightened, waving his screwdriver around. “Hey, I'm cool.” He cocked a grin at her mocking smile, and entered some notes on the designs. But after a minute or two, he was done and fixed her with a stare. One that let her know she wouldn't get off the hook with her flippant nonchalance. Serious Tony had arrived, and the real question was coming.

"You gonna be okay? _Really_ okay?”

She didn’t say anything, setting her fidget toy down as she watched his face instead. He held her gaze, never wavering, and she realized he was actually talking about more than just their future formerly-but-still-possibly-murdery tower resident. Tony had never quite lost that slight look of terror that he might lose Pepper and he still wasn’t able to deal with a lot of that trauma. Some days he hid it better, but right then he was letting it show. And she knew his next suggestion came from support and love. 

“I could always ban a certain spangly ass from the tower. You wouldn’t have to deal with either of them.” 

She smiled but shook her head. 

“No. For all we know the one has mended his ways. The other may have been an idiot and treated me badly, but I let it happen." She tried to physically shut her lips, but more kept coming. "I should have said something before it hurt that much. Should have never let it happen at all. So many ‘should haves’.” 

“Yeah. Why did you?”

Her fingers clenched and she took a deep breath, wanting to be angry at the question but it was one she had been asking herself repeatedly already.

“I don't know.” She paused, searching for words as she stared at her fingers spread out on her knee. “Half the time I think I was just flattered this beefcake American icon showed interest. Another half thinks I was just in love with the man and what he stood for, not the person. Another half remembers when we were friends, and he was sweet and not distracted or angry and wishes we could go back to that and stay there forever.”

“Should I take it as a good or bad sign that your math skills are still this terrible?”

She huffed out a weak laugh, one that was fairly rusty as of late, and he came around to give her shoulder a slight squeeze. “But you're okay, right?” 

It only took her a second before she could honestly answer. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Good.” He stepped away to lean on a nearby lab table and stroke his facial hair. “Now that we have those pesky emotions out of the way, let's focus on important things.” 

“Uh huh, like what?”

His fingers kept stroking as he now had the floor and warmed to his topic.

“One specific wayward assassin already in residence. One who I really don't feel like worrying about slipping back into murderous ways with another outlier thrown into the mix.” 

“What Natasha? You really have to specify more around here.”

He grunted, annoyed at her obtuse reaction.

“Yes, her. She's being cagey.” 

“She's always cagey. Especially with you and your need to find out how she passed as a Peruvian man on that one mission.” 

“No. Not like this. She gave me a facial expression.”

Darcy sat up, finally shaking off some of the somber tone that had lingered in her voice.

“She _is_ human. She does that.”

“Not with me. That's not our thing.”

“Your thing?”

He flitted his hands about, telling her without words she needed to catch up.

“Yes. Our thing is where I still act like she's my very attractive but duplicitous assistant and she pretends she's the stone-cold betrayer who hitched herself to the one eyed, no-haired leather junky hero leader.”

She wanted to argue, but stopped to think about it for a minute. When she’d replayed all her interactions with Natasha in the last week, she realized he had a point. And not just about Fury's affinity for leather.

“Your gossipy self might be onto something. I'll keep my eyes open.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally has a talk with his old friend, only to realize a few things.

He should have just let Bucky get the damn groceries. But he was worried. Worried someone would see him, would recognize him. Worried that he’d lose his friend all over again. And now he would have a nice, new scar for a few months. Just for some bread and sandwich meat.

With a grunt, Steve lifted his shirt and took a picture of the freshly stitched skin along his ribs. He captioned it “still alive” and sent it to Darcy. She had yet to respond to any of his messages, but she hadn't told him to stop either. So he tried to be honest, to make sure he didn't hide the fact that he took a cheap knife shot in an alley this time. And if he was really honest with himself, his effort to reach out was only in part to try and correct past mistakes. Another, petty part of himself he usually tried to ignore hoped that if there was any bit of Darcy that might care enough to worry, that this might stir up at least some of those old emotions.

He set his phone down and glanced at Bucky, who was lightly dozing on the couch. He’d found him four weeks earlier in some eastern European hellhole. Natasha might have called the hit he took some sort of cognitive recalibration, but it brought about a hell of a shift from his standoffish behavior. Together they’d taken out the goons and made like hell out of there. But it had still taken them a full week just to get rid of everyone that was tailing them. Then two weeks to sneak across some borders. They had been laying low the last couple of days. Letting their trail run cold so they wouldn't be as easy to track. But Steve was getting antsy. He had his friend back, but he needed to get somewhere safer. Somewhere that he could focus on more than survival. Somewhere that he could start fixing the next problem in his life. Somewhere closer to Darcy.

And that was stupid. Half his thoughts went to his friend and half to the woman he had once again left behind. One of these days the split was going to get him killed. Hell, he’d been distracted enough earlier in the alley of that grocery store that some punk had been able to get the jump on him. Not his best moment. With a grunt, he pushed himself up and toward the kitchen. If his ribs took a knife to get the food he might as well eat it. 

When he came back, Bucky was awake, casually scrolling through the phone that he’d definitely left on the table. 

“Who’s Darcy?”

Steve froze. Trying to keep his breathing normal, trying not to run and snatch the phone with a punch for good measure like he wanted to. Instead he slowly, deliberately sat down on the couch where Bucky had been. His friend was back, but there were still layers the two were working through and figuring out. So no matter how much he wanted to lash out, he kept his calm.

“Why do you care who she is?”

There was no facial expression, just more silent scrolling through his messages. “So it is a girl. Odd name.”

Steve closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t given that bit of information away, but it was too late at that point. “Yes, does that matter?”

“If you’re trying to flirt it does. These read like mission reports. “Landed in Bucharest, still looking.”. Even back in Brooklyn you did better.”

He closed his eyes, mentally calculating the odds that he could get the phone back without explanation and neither of them would wind up in need of medical care. He shifted and grimaced. Make that in need of  _ more  _ medical care. The odds weren’t good. Maybe a different tactic would work.

“Don’t you trust me, Buck?”

He got a quick glance and a quiet snort.

“Your attempts at distraction haven’t gotten any better either.” After a second, his friend shrugged, clearly deciding to actually respond to the earlier deflection. “It’s not about trust, I’m curious.”

“Why?”

“You never tried to keep a secret from me before.”

Was that true? He wasn’t sure. Of course, he wasn’t sure about much of anything anymore. “This is different. Darcy is different.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and staring up at the dirty, stained ceiling. “I hurt her. I hurt her and I’m trying to figure out how to make it better. If I even can.”

“This isn’t like that handsy private back at the base again, is it?”

He couldn’t help a huff remembering the intense blonde. “No. I thought I was trying to protect Darcy from the fight. Or at least that’s what I told myself. But it just wound up hurting her more.” 

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Shit. This is like Brooklyn again.”

“What?”

“This is exactly what you did back when you were picking fights in every alley and street corner. You hurt your ma trying to protect her too.”

“What the hell do you mean?” 

For the first time in their entire conversation, Bucky finally looked at him, not bothering to hide his frustration. “Do you think she never knew about the fights? That she never saw the blood on your collar or the split in your lip?” 

He couldn’t say anything to that.

“You might not have noticed the hurt in her eyes, but I sure as hell did. Why do you think I tried to keep you out of so many fights, even when the other guy was wrong.”

“Well I knew I was wrong  _ this _ time. I was gonna try and fix it but then she got hurt and I said some stupid shit.”

“Now why does that sound familiar?” With a mocking chuckle, Bucky ran his hand through his hair in a familiar gesture. Steve figured he should take it as a good sign that his friend was once again laughing at his dumb ass and pain. But something was nagging at him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Darcy. I never wanted to hurt her.” He paused. “And I never meant to hurt my ma, either.”

Bucky tossed his phone back to him and headed off to the kitchen.

“Keep telling yourself that, but you’ve been hurting women since the day you were born, punk.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [awww-brain-no](http://awww-brain-no.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Come say hi!


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